


Chatroulette

by ToniPrufrock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Experiment, Internet, M/M, Slash, chatroulette, computer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToniPrufrock/pseuds/ToniPrufrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is in one of his bored phases. John decides that the best way to get him out of it is to follow Harry's advice and try out chatroulette. It soon takes the flatmates unexpected places...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chatroulette

Watson was getting used to Sherlock's eccentricities.  
It had been a few months since he had moved in, and a good few life-threatening brushes with death too. In a way, Watson found that they were the payback, the reason for putting up with the eccentricities. Sure, Sherlock was a great friend, so far as Sherlock's somewhat crooked grasp of emotions could have friends, but the biggest advantage of hanging around the consulting detective was the adventure.  
That said, the eccentricities which emerged when he was bored were almost too much to take. This week had been a nightmare, to the point where he had been scurrying off to Sarah's at every opportunity. It had been 8 days without a hint of a case, though for Sherlock it might as well have been 8 years.  
Watson walked through the doors on Sunday evening, having been around at Sarah's since Friday, with a Chinese takeaway in his hands as a peace offering. He stared at the scene before him.  
The flat was a utter mess. Books which had been stacked in shelves or in 'neat' piles on the floor had been spread out everywhere randomly, but for a constructed pyramid of half-open books that were arranged in one corner and reached the ceiling. Various papers were also scattered around, along with other detritus.  
The man responsible for the mess was sat upside down on his chair so that his head dangled over the seat and his legs up on the back, throwing knifes into the ceiling, with apparently no regards for what might happen if they didn't stick into the plasterwork and gravity took effect.

"Jesus Sherlock, what happened?" Watson exclaimed, hurrying to dump the Chinese on the table.  
"Bored." Sherlock said, his low voice drawn out enough so that it was barely more than a disgruntled rumble.  
"Oh hell, not this again." Watson groaned. He watched as Sherlock took a large kitchen knife and chucked it directly upwards. It looped twice in the air before sticking blade-first deep into the ceiling. "And you're going to end up killing yourself." Watson said, giving the stack of knives in the ceiling directly above Sherlock's head a nervous glance.  
"That might be more interesting, if only briefly so." Sherlock muttered sulkily.  
Watson gave him a long look before taking a deep breath, taking charge.  
"Right. get up, I brought you a Chinese. When did you last eat?"  
He asked. When Sherlock made no move to move he walked over and nudged him until he half dragged the detective back around so he was sitting up. He then gave him a tug on his arm and Sherlock relented, sloping off into the kitchen to sit at the table.  
"Oh I have no idea." Sherlock said.  
"Did you eat lunch?" Watson prompted as patiently as he could, scooping out rice onto some plates.  
"Lunch? No."  
"Breakfast?" Watson frowned slightly.  
"Probably not."  
"Probably?"  
"Well, I didn't sleep."  
"Why not?" Watson asked, not entirely surprised. He also got the feeling that if that was the case, there was every likelihood that Sherlock hadn't eaten in days. It certainly explained how spacey he looked. He carried on serving, trying to not let Sherlock's utter apathy irritate him. He had to remain cheerful and positive and proactive if he was going to drag Sherlock out of his funk.  
"Sleep is dull."  
"And staying awake all night doing nothing is exciting, is it?"  
Once he was finished he slid the plate over to Sherlock and then took his own, sitting opposite him. Sherlock didn't reply, and looked down at his food unenthusiastically as Watson ate. Only after Watson gave him a few well placed hard looks did he relent and start scooping food into his mouth, soon finding that he was ravenous.  
They remained this way for a while, Watson studying Sherlock, before he sighed and patted his palms down on the table.  
"Right." he announced.  
"Right what?" Sherlock looked up form the last scoops of his food.  
"I'm going to make it my project to entertain you, Sherlock." he said, smirking at him as if he knew he wouldn't take no for an answer and was prepared to fight for it.  
Sherlock gave him a blank look.  
"Come on, seriously, you can't drift around like this for ages. And you obviously can't look after yourself. So let me entertain you, ok?"  
"And how do you propose to do that?" Sherlock replied sourly.  
"Well, for a start, when I was chatting to Harry a couple of days ago, she mentioned this website which could be kind of fun. In fact, she sort of challenged me to go on it too today. She said it's a randomly generated video chat, and she wanted to see if she could beat probability and we'd get randomly put together. She seemed to think it was pretty fun. To be honest, I think it's worth a look. Why don't you go on with me? You know how much you like computers..." Watson pressed, smiling.  
Sherlock gave Watson a long look before sighing.  
"All-right, fine, John. I'll join you."  
Watson grinned.  
"Brilliant. Ok I'll give Harry a text and tell her to go online. Do you want to use the computer up in my room?" he asked.  
Sherlock tilted his head slightly, looking intrigued. He had never actually been inside Watson's room before. There was an unwritten flatmate-rule that neither of them disturbed the little 'havens' of each other's bedrooms since they often served as the only true sanctuaries away from one another. He nodded, jumping at the chance to have a snoop around, and got up to follow him, watching him as he texted. he didn't need to read over his shoulder in order to know exactly what he was writing - just catching in the corner of his eye the finger movements over the keys was enough.

'Hey Harry, it's John. I'm going on chatroulette like you can stop bugging me now.'

Watson opened the door to his bedroom and strode in to turn on his computer, and Sherlock stepped in behind him, casting his eyes around, taking in every little detail in mere seconds, almost unconsciously.  
The room was a little bigger than Sherlock's since it had the upstairs space, but was plainly furnished since Watson had made no alterations to it. The whole area was rather Spartan, and he thought that it was obvious from this that the old army habits die hard. Having been used to packing the minimum for his duties and keeping away clutter for his old job, the room reflected this. Indeed, the bed itself was made so neatly and tightly that Sherlock was sure he could bounce pennies off the sheets, or measure an exact right-angle from the tucked-in corners.  
He smiled to himself, thinking it rather adorable that his deductions of the character and life of Watson should be so accurately affirmed by the character of his room. The room was a blank canvas of order and haven. Should he want eccentric character and disorder he could go downstairs to the kitchen and living room, which Sherlock dominated with his clutter and decor.  
Rather a metaphor for their relationship in general, he thought. No wonder Watson had been going mad without the excitement.

"Here we go. Pull up a chair." Watson said with a smile as he attached a webcam to his computer.  
Sherlock did so and sat next to him, looking over his computer.  
"inferior model." he commented.  
"What?"  
"The potential of this computer has been completely disregarded." Sherlock sniffed. "You must have gone for the cheapest option-pack when you bought it."  
Watson gave him a look. "Of course I did."  
"Disappointing."  
"Does it matter? I only use it for writing and surfing the 'net." Watson said. Once it loaded up he opened up internet explorer and typed in the website address.  
"You could have at least have gotten a better internet browser." Sherlock tutted.  
"Look, do you want us to go on your laptop instead?" Watson snapped.  
"No. Carry on."  
"Fine. Good. Thank you." Watson sighed and clicked, and chatroulette opened up.

"Remind me of the purpose of this?"  
Sherlock asked, looking dully at the screen, his enthusiasm ebbing now that he had seen the inside of Watson's room. His pale eyes drifted to the drawers in the computer desk, curious of their contents so neatly hidden away.  
"Basically, you just log on with the webcam - right? - and it links you up with a random person form the about 50,000 users online at any one time. You can see them and chat to then via the microphone.." he tapped his, "or the keyboard text."  
"I see. But what is the purpose?" Sherlock repeated.  
"I don't know. To get to know people I guess. Make friends, learn about humanity and cultures in general, have fun..." Watson shrugged. "Like I said, it's Harry's thing. Apparently she loves it. Now, are you ready? I'm going to put us onto it." he said, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it down a bit.  
Sherlock raised and eyebrow and shifted in his seat, straightening out his suit and leaning back in his chair, looking more curious and a little more arrogant in light of having to interact with people. He didn't like people in general, but adored showing off to them.  
"Ready when you are, John." he said.  
Watson took a little breath, nodded and then logged them in. Immediately they were greeted with the camera feed of a rather obese woman with a couple of cats on her lap.  
"Um. Hello there." John said awkwardly.  
"Why check out your accent honey, aren't you just adorable?" The woman smiled, talking in a thick American accent. "I'm Lindsy, pleasure to meetcha."  
"I'm John. This is Sherlock." He replied, glancing at Sherlock. His companion was sat back, and a thoughtful look had entered his face as he studied the woman.  
"So, uh, I'm new to this." Watson admitted with a laugh. "I guess I should ask you about yourself?" he offered.  
Sherlock butted in. "She's a woman of 53 who's been telling people that she's 39 for years. She has 4-6 cats in her house and follows numerous soap operas. She's been single for 15 years, mainly because she doesn't leave the house when he weight sky-rocketed after a brief spate of depression following a breakup. To fill the void and her gradually dawning realisation that she would perhaps never have children she got the cats, and she fills the void of her boredom by remembering the plots to each of her programmes perfectly and going on numerous internet forums. She has recently stopped dying her hair, and washes her clothes less often. For example that t-shirt has been worn 3 times without a wash. She is in a funk so reaches out via websites such as this, but really all she needs to do is go outside and find a hobby and everything will fall back into place."  
Sherlock said, rattling off the details quickly and almost impatiently. He looked smug at the end, and the woman had an expression of shock like she had just been slapped in the face.  
Sherlock waited for her response, expecting an affirmation that it was all true. But instead her screen suddenly cut out.  
"Wh-what? Where did she go?" Sherlock exclaimed.  
"She nexted us." Watson replied cooly, looking irritated at Sherlock's rudeness for the poor woman.  
"What?"  
"they can reject us and move on. We can do the same." Watson explained, giving the man who now occupied their screen on chatroulette a sheepish look.

"Sorry about this."  
Watson said, reaching to next the man on the screen so they had someone new, and ignoring Sherlock's background exclamations of annoyed disappointment at the woman's 'cowardice and self denial'.  
As Watson was distracted with telling Sherlock to be quiet and to be more polite to the next people, he didn't see what appeared on the screen until they both turned back around.  
What they saw both made them flinch.  
"oh Jesus!" Watson exclaimed as he was greeted with the wart-and-all view of a man jacking off.  
"What th-?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose, staring at him with confused morbid fascination. "Why is he-?"  
"Just- just click- Sherlock click!- oh give it here!" Watson said, his voice quick and panicky in his attempt to get to the 'next' button and rid himself of the sight. He reached over to grab the mouse and after it was done he let a sigh of relief.  
Now, instead on the screen was a teenage girl in a colourful band T-shirt in a bedroom apparently 70% occupied by cuddly toys. She was soon joined by another blonde girl of roughly the same age, who looked over her shoulder at the screen in amusement.  
"Are you guys ok?"  
The blonde teen asked, laughing when she saw how flustered John looked and how Sherlock's expression of intrigued disbelief hadn't quite left his face.  
"Uh. I...I...yes, sorry. We just got a bit of a shock." Watson said, laughing a little.  
"Shock?" The brown haired teen asked, smirking a little knowingly.  
"A man masturbating." Sherlock clarified bluntly.  
The girls giggled. "well, duh!"  
"Duh? Why?" Watson asked.  
"Aw man, you must be a n00b here. Ok, basically, like, 1 in 5 of these are guys jacking off." The brown haired one said, laughing. "probability. it's full of pervs!"  
Sherlock frowned slightly. "Why on Earth would they do that?"  
"I dunno, i guess they like the attention, y'know?" the blonde one shrugged. "kinda like..."  
"like an exhibitionist thing. like streakers." the brown one finished.  
"Yeah, like streakers. 'cos you get a lot of attention." the blonde one nodded.  
John shook his head. "That's...crazy."  
"Well no, 'cos, like, it's like n=one knows who you are. It's kind of liberating I guess. I mean, you can just have fun. it's like you get lotsa weirdoes wearing masks or pretending to be the pope or something." the blonde one laughed.  
"Oh yeah! we got this guy pretending to be zombie Michael Jackson!" the brown one exclaimed, sending both of them into another fit of giggles.  
"Like, sometimes for example, we totally make out. Even though we're not lesbos." the blonde one said.  
"Why on earth would you do that?" Watson asked, looking surprised.  
"Why not? Who's gonna know. Plus seeing people's reactions are Hil-la-ri-ous! I mean, like, you get to know a lot about a person from their reactions."  
"Yeah, like if they're a total douchebag or not." the brown one snorted.  
Watson shook his head in disbelief, but Sherlock had a glint of interest in his eye.  
"Like, you two would make a cute couple." the blonde one teased, giggling.  
"Yeah, they would..." the brown one agreed, snickering.  
Watson blinked, looking surprised. "Wh-? No, no, we're not..."  
"Doesn't matter. It'd be funny." the blonde one said.  
Sherlock smirked.

As Watson chatted pleasantly to the girls for a little while, explaining that he and Sherlock were flatmates, Sherlock sat back and kept giving Watson glances, a small smirk on his face. Attention. That would be good. As would being able to see peoples kneejerk reactions. he mused over the fascinating separation of reality from fiction on the internet, and wondered if it made one's opinion more acute and polarised, or made them more free minded and unafraid since normal society wasn't there to judge them due to their relative passing anonymity. Certainly a useful experiment...plus, he had to admit, he had been rather curious about Watson, namely how he felt like...  
"John?" he asked casually to get his attention.  
Watson turned to look at him. "Yes, what is I-"  
He was cut off by Sherlock suddenly darting forward and grabbing Watson's face with his hands, crushing his lips against his in a kiss.  
Watson's eyes widened and he struggled back, breaking off the kiss with a shocked gasp.  
The teenage girls cheered a hooted, and Sherlock looked at first a little dazed, and then smug.  
"What the hell was that for?" Watson yelped, his face colouring pink and his hand wiping across his mouth.  
"Experimentation." Sherlock replied simply, though there was a subtle colour to his pale cheeks too, though he tried to look completely neutral and unaffected.  
"An experiment?" Watson exclaimed.  
"Aww don't be such a prude." the blonde girl whined.  
"Yeah, that was pretty hot." the brown one giggled. "Told you you were cute together, didn't we?"  
Watson ran his hand over his face. "Ugh..I...this is stupid."  
"Come on, what's the harm?" Sherlock replied, the taste of Watson still tingling on hsi tongue. "i want to see people's reactions. It's essential for my studies. I want to see if the reactions tally with my deductions of them, and then try and compare that to see if the internet and such situations create a new persona or set of characteristics for an individual that are not normally expressed in real life." Sherlock said.  
"Figured you'd have some reason for it." Watson grumbled.  
"Well?"  
"Well what?"  
"Will you assist me. You could help save lives if this leads to a new theory,." Sherlock said.  
"Oh I truly doubt that." Watson grumbled, rubbing his lips again, still flushed.  
"Have I ever been wrong about this sort of thing before?"  
"Yes."  
"Really?"  
"Well, occasionally. when it doesn't work."  
"But you admit that the reasoning for such experiments is well founded?" Sherlock pressed.  
"Well...yes...yes, it is usually..." Watson had to admit.  
"Oh give over and just make out again already!" one of the girls chirped.  
Watson groaned and looked into Sherlock's eyes, the genius' piercing intelligent stare cutting through him like a hot knife through butter. He was surprised to find a little butterfly in his stomach.  
"I...well...if it's for an experiment." he said feebly. Part of him was excited and pleased, and he didn't quite understand that emotion in him.  
Sherlock beamed - a genuine expression that took Watson by surprise and made the butterfly flap around even more.  
"Perfect." Sherlock said

Sherlock then leant over and gave the girls a little smirk.  
"Pardon me, ladies, but I have an experiment to conduct."

He clicked 'next'  
Watson shifted nervously in his seat, wondering what he was doing agreeing to this. Then a large man with a friendly face and black glasses was on the other end of the screen.  
Sherlock cast his pale eyes over the man and the room once and then nodded to him, deciding to start off relatively slow to feel his way before he committed to probably traumatising John Watson.

"Good afternoon." he announced. "i was wondering if you would assist me in an experiment."  
Watson groaned, trying to shift partially out of view of their webcam.

"Oh aye?" the man at the other end commented, smiling in wary intrigue. "And just what might that be?"

"I have made a set of deductions about you." Sherlock said with confidence. "However, there is one last thing I need to do before you affirm or contradict my impression of you."

"You don't mince your words, eh?" the man laughed. He raised his eyebrows, leaning forwards slightly. "So what do I need to do?"

"React." Sherlock said simply, before hooking his fingers into the neck of John's jumper and dragging him into view, locking lips with him. Watson wriggled, disliking being dragged around without much warning, but when he realised that Sherlock wasn't planning on letting him go he softened into the kiss a little, going with it until Sherlock broke off with a satisfied inhale.  
Watson's face was blazing. He tried to look anywhere apart from Sherlock's face or the computer screen.

"Well?" Sherlock demanded brusquely fixing his eyes on the man.  
The man paused and then gave a little laugh. "Well I can't say that I expected that! Just come out, have you?"  
"Interesting..." Sherlock mused.  
Watson ran the back of his hands over his wet lips, giving Sherlock a look. What the hell could he have learnt from that.  
The man at the screen was still chuckling, looking pleased and amused.  
"Well this affirms what I already thought of you."  
Sherlock sniffed, licking his lips lazily like a cat. Watson found something rather perverse in that - how Sherlock seemed so unaffected, and yet milked out the fact that he had Watson's taste on his lips. It sent a tingle down Watson's spine. He flushed deeper and winced away from the screen.  
"And what is that?" the Man asked, reaching off-screen and producing a can of Tango that he popped open.  
"You're gay, for a star." Sherlock said.  
"So are you." the man smirked.  
"Ah. But did you need us to kiss to prove that?" Sherlock said, looking rather condescending.  
"No. It's pretty obvious. With you, anyway. I bet you're one of those posh private-school gays. Y'know the type." he teased.  
Sherlock look a little put about by that and snorted.  
Watson smiled at the man having pulled one on Sherlock. Good guy, he thought.  
Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "My sexuality is something that can barely be described within one sentence, so I wouldn't make a presumption unless you have better evidence." He said, his voice sounding a little stung as his ego took a dint. Watson tried not to smirk in amusement.  
"Hit a nerve?" the Man asked, chuckling, though had no malice to his voice.  
"My deduction, sir, was that you are a homosexual long out of the closet. You have difficulty getting dates, but are generally intelligent and likable, so have many friends. As such, you have taken on the role of 'cuddly teddy bear' - a role you like because your weight is an advantage rather to the persona - and became somewhat of a romantic and matchmaker. Therefore, the apparent affection I displayed with my flatmate was endearing to you, provoking a positive response."

Both Watson and the Man stared at Sherlock. Then the man burst out laughing.  
"Interesting one, you've got here!" he grinned at Watson.  
"We're not...really, I'm just his flatmate and this is just an experiment." Watson said.  
"Is he for real?"  
"Unfortunately." Watson grumbled, giving Sherlock another look that was cooly and smugly returned.

"The experiment was a success. Goodbye." Sherlock said, reaching out to press the next button before Watson could complain about the rudeness of just cutting him off. Sherlock had thought he'd been polite: after all he HAD said goodbye.

The next person was another man with olive skin and a geeky t-shirt. This time Sherlock didn't greet or give warning, but for his eyes flicking over the man to access him. He instantly went for Watson again, pulling him in for a kiss and tilting his head to the side to deepen it. Watson's eyes widened and he pressed his palms against Sherlock's chest, but soon they flickered closed as he was overcome with the sensation of Sherlock's surprisingly feminine lips bruising against his, and then, as he deepened it, the distinct little flick of that tongue -  
Watson jerked back with a gasp and shoved Sherlock off him in shock. The detective gave him a surprised look and then scowled.  
"Watson, you have to play along or you ruin the experiment. Now look!"  
he snapped, giving an annoyed look at the stunned viewer. Apparently Sherlock had expected another reaction.  
Watson stared at him, appalled that Sherlock had the gall to scold him.  
"What? I never said tongue!" he snapped back.  
Sherlock gave him a pouty look and folded his arms.  
"John, if you can't commit then what's the point at all? I might as well go get Mrs Hudson for all the good you are."  
"Hey! Pardon me, but this is a pretty damn big request you know. Don't get pissy at me because it's difficult ok? I'm straight, remember? And you're my bloody flatmate! This is surreal at best and insane at worst!" Watson shot back, raising his voice.  
Sherlock gave him a long look before sighing. "I suppose there's some truth in that."  
"You're damn right there is. I mean, I'm trying to be tolerant here but...you know what I mean?" Watson said, sighing finally as he let off steam enough to calm down.  
Sherlock nodded. "Understood."  
There was a long pause.  
Watson swallowed and then looked at Sherlock again. "So...?"  
"So?"  
"Your experiment...?"  
Sherlock gave a shrug, looking a little sulky. "Well, evidentially you're too much of an emotional coward to take part so I suppose it's off."  
Watson frowned. Coward. He knew that Sherlock was messing with him and pushing his buttons to manipulate him, but he couldn't stand to be called that.  
"Coward?" he asked. "Really?"  
Sherlock gave a little nod.  
"Oh damn it, fine. Fine. I'll play along." Watson groaned.

Sherlock smiled in victory. He then edged closer.  
"John, I want us to start kissing and not to stop. I will keep pressing the next button, and glance at the people and hear their reactions. I will scroll through them quickly and try to gather as much data as I can. I won't stop, so there won't be any opportunity for you to lose your nerve, you see? Is that acceptable?"  
"Nothing about this is 'acceptable', Sherlock." Watson said, folding his arms.  
"And yet you ARE accepting it, aren't you?"  
Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow, looking at Watson with the kind of scrutiny that Watson knew meant that he was picking him apart and analysing him like the many ingredients of a recipe. For a man so emotionally retarded he sure knew how to read people. Sherlock had once said, with regards to emotions that 'sociopathy means expert imitation if desired, yet no emphathy' or something to that effect. He could copy and read but he didn't necessarily understand on his own most personal level. Like reading sheet music and reproducing it expertly, but lacking the soul to compose moving sonatas.  
he sighed and tried to ignore that look.  
"Yes...ok, i can accept that. Let's just get this over with shall we?"

Sherlock nodded and edged forward to the side of his seat as they were next to one another, swivelling in it. Rather than half strangling him in his drag into a kiss, he instead approached Watson more slowly, his eyes briefly meeting his as if checking permission.  
Watson sighed and braced himself, closing his eyes, and soon he felt Sherlock's lips brush his more gently and kiss him.  
He wanted to be repulsed. He so badly wanted to be repulsed. But he couldn't catch hold of that emotion at all. Instead there were the fluttering swarming butterflies in his stomach, and the embarrassment and awkwardness...but no disgust.  
In fact, to his chagrin, there was something of the opposite. He tried to tell himself that that was only because it was new and so taboo.  
He half opened his eyes enough to see Sherlock reach out to press the next button.  
Sherlock's hands moved down to Watson's sides, making his wriggle again since he'd not signed up for any fondling as well, but the detective only gripped him to guide him around a little so Sherlock had a better view of the laptop, eventually peeking to the side partially over Watson's shoulder to see the reactions. The first was a young woman with a look of shock and wariness, as if not sure what to say. Sherlock ticked that to 'expected reaction'. He clicked next.  
Watson flushed, breaking for air but soon getting pulled into another kiss. He felt Sherlock deeper in, and soon he felt those long fingers at his back, moving.  
God, was he actually stroking his back? No, he was just supporting him, Watson thought. Or putting on a show.  
He heard the voices of a group of teenage guys crying out and laughing in mock-horror and he groaned in humiliation, leaning forward to bury his face in Sherlock's chest to get away from it. He then shivered as he felt Sherlock's chest jump in a chuckle, and his lips move to press against Watson's neck, kissing down the line of it to his collar.  
"Sh...Sherlock...?" Watson gasped lightly at the ticklish yet undeniably sensuous kisses.  
"Play along. Make it look real." Sherlock murmured.  
Watson gulped. It -felt- real.  
"O-ok." he murmured, shivering again, feeling how warm Sherlock's chest was under his forehead and fingers. He was sure that he could even hear the faint drumming of his heartbeat. So he was human, after all.  
Sherlock pressed the next button.

Sherlock lips sucked at his neck, flicking out his tongue again in a playful lick before he took a gentle hold of Watson's chin and kissed him again fully, soon letting his tongue wander to brush against Watson's. Watson let out an involuntary little moan at that, and before he knew what he was doing his tongue returned the attention to the detective.  
He only dimly heard some encouragements and -increasingly breathless- approvals from the computer: his senses were soon getting hazy and entirely focused on the feel of Sherlock's tongue and lips and slender fingers.  
"mmhm..expected but acute. Sense of decncy and restraint gone due to anonymity of the internet." Sherlock muttered against Watson's lips, his hands moving to stroke at his face and over the small of his back.  
"wh-what?" Watson gasped, finding it increasingly difficult to reply.  
"He's touching himself." Sherlock smirked.  
Watson's eyes widened before squeezing shut quickly, not wanting to see. "I don't want to know. I DO NOT want to know." he said.  
Sherlock carried on the kiss, and soon his fingers towed down to the bottom of Watson's jumper, teasing at the material.  
"Part of you likes it." he observed.  
Watson practically spluttered, that catching him by surprise as he had been distracted by Sherlock's touch.  
"wh-what?" he exclaimed, breaking the kiss.  
Sherlock gave him a longlook right in the eyes. "You're pressing against my leg, John, and it's getting very hot down there." he observed neutrally.  
Watson's face turned crimson. "i...I...wh-what?"  
Watson got the sudden feeling of vertigo at being on a crossroads. To run or to stay. Sherlock's hand had moved to rest lightly on his leg, his eyes still cooly regarding him. But, imagination or not, Watson thought he could see a slight glint of uncertainty in them.  
"John...shall I press next again?" Sherlock asked, his voice gravely serious.

Watson stared at Sherlock.  
Now that was a question. Press next and continue with this wonderful perversion, or decline and end it here and just pray that they could look one another in the eye after this. Quitting seemed to announce that they were doing wrong (which, the rational but now rather subservient part of his brain asserted, it was since he was both straight and had a girlfriend). However going on was a huge risk, and one that terrified him because he didn't understand it at all - he was just following his urges.  
But, his heart and his body were both turned towards Sherlock and that beautiful finger hovering over the mouse-button to click next, and be damned with anything else. Right now, Sherlock was memorising and attractive, the situation was exciting and adventurous, and he loved the thrill with every fibre of his being.  
Rationality and polite-convention be damned.

He gave a short nod, and Sherlock actually smiled.  
The detective pressed the next button and soon returned to kissing him. he pulled himself closer and closer, so that their legs intertwined as they sat on their chairs, and - as one hand supported his face- another of Sherlock's hands went to stroke the inside of his thigh, kneading at it. Watson bit his lip and leant against the back of his chair in a slight effort to put just a little distance between his flatmate before he was overwhelmed, but nevertheless he soon reached out to Sherlock, holding the detective's shoulders and - as Sherlock leant in for more kisses - ran his fingers through the dark curls of Sherlock's hair.  
Sherlock gave a low little moan of appreciation at the intimate contact, and his fingers drifted higher up the inside of Watson's thigh until he was brushing against the warm crotch of his trousers, Watson reflexively jerked away, shivered, but then relaxed into it invitingly, his heart hammering in pleasant terror.  
Sherlock's eyes flicked up briefly to study the screen where a middle aged woman was watching with silent interest, a guilty smirk on her face and ABBA playing in the background. Watson had long ago decided to try and avoid looking at the screen, just in case he saw something that'd put him off this already insane course of action.  
Sherlock gave the woman a little smirk, logging away his deductions of her mentally, before kissing at Watson's neck and kneading at his crotch. Watson gave a needier whine at that, caught between jerking away from the intensity and pushing towards it for more. Sherlock - not to his surprise- soon found that he was hard, the material of his trousers stretched tight, and he laughed.  
"Sherlock, don't' laugh at me..." Watson pleaded, flushing red again. "it's hard enough as it is."  
"I know. It just is...how should I say?...a compliment. I'll take it as a compliment." he smirked.  
"Oh shut up Sherlock." Watson groaned. "If you don't shut up I'll change my mind."  
"No. No, you won't. A stampede of buffalo couldn't' change your mind right now." Sherlock observed, reading him like a book again, affirming observations that Watson hadn't even realised about himself. But, as he thought about it, it was true.  
"Just...ok. But make it easier." Watson said.  
"Oh my Lord you two are so cute...that's just adorable." The woman commented from the screen, listening to the conversation.  
Watson looked completely embarrassed and shocked, as if having forgotten they were being watched. Sherlock reached out to quickly press 'next' in an effort to put Watson back at ease again.  
'See?' Watson thought to himself, 'he can be considerate.'

As the next screen loaded Sherlock gave him a biting kiss to distract him again, his cool hands moving up to snake under Watson's jumper and shirt and touch the skin of his stomach.  
"God...Sherlock..."  
Watson whined, soon feeling that vertigo again, afraid of what this would mean in the future. It was already going too far, but Sherlock was right - he couldn't stop it. He didn't want to, even if his rationality fretted over the ramifications.  
"Don't think."  
Sherlock said firmly, ignoring the rather loud protests and insults emitting form the screen now.  
Watson tried to look at the screen, evidentially disturbed by the hail of disgusted abuse from the stranger, but Sherlock's fingers were soon gripping at his chin to hold his head in one direction to stop him from looking.  
"Sherlo-"  
Watson began, but was cut off by Sherlock looking at him intensely, the cold-blue eyes holding his almost as if he was memorised.  
"The purpose of an experiment is not to think about it. Not to bring preconceptions to the scientific plateau of the experiment. A proper experiment is viewed completely neutrally. It is followed through until the end, the results are recorded, and only after all the parts are in place and have been thoroughly and objectively observed, is one allowed to begin to make judgements."  
"But... I..this isn't a -"  
"Do not think about this. Don't make premature judgements. Either carry on or cease with the experiment. Choose."  
Sherlock said firmly.  
Watson stared at him for a long while, his heart hammering. But he then made his decision and took Sherlock's advice. Don't think - just act.  
He closed the gap between them, leading the kisses now more roughly, his hands soon moving to tear at Sherlock's shirt before he lost his nerve. Sherlock let out a slightly strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan and let Watson wrestle some control, one arm reaching out shakily to press 'next'. Soon Watson had Sherlock's shirt open and, eyes squeezed tightly shut to contain his bravery, started kissing at the detective's skinny chest. Sherlock ran his hands through Watson's hair in appreciation, leaning back slightly and arching up to his lips, his face soon flushed and his breathing shallower. As Watson began to kiss his bare shoulders and drag his shirt fully off, Sherlock closed the gap completely, actually nudging up onto Watson's lap in an effort to be close to him, and pulling determinedly and rather frantically at his layers, trying to yank them over his head.  
"Sh-sherlock! Wait! let me just-" Watson exclaimed. Sherlock managed to drag Watson's jumper off with a crackle of static, but couldn't take the shirt off with it without unbuttoning it, leaving Watson stuck with half his shirt turned inside out over his head and the button of his collar half-strangling.  
"oh yes, very dignified." Watson said sarcastically, pleased that he still had a sense of humour.  
Sherlock muttered and apology and frowned in concentration as he went to unbutton the shirt, his fingers moving frantically and clumsily, causing him to swear under his breath as he scrambled at them. Watson wriggled, still pretty stuck in his shirt as Sherlock worked at releasing him. He wanted to tell Sherlock to slow down - or rather, to calm down - and he realised that Sherlock was actually nervous too. It was obvious by his increasingly panicky frustrated tugs at the buttons. Watson was dumbstruck by that, and smiled. It was endearing, and made him feel a little safer, even if it surprised him.  
"Sherlock, it's ok." he said gently as Sherlock swore again and tugged his shirt back down so he could access the buttons more easily. Sherlock was blushing and looked angry as he finally wrenched at the buttons, popping some of them off and some of the buttonholes tearing. Watson winced. 'There goes my good shirt' he thought with a mental groan.

Watson heard a soft laughing from the computer that was quickly shushed and he tried to forget that they had an audience. However, it did give him a tingle of excitement at the taboo of exhibition. He gulped and let Sherlock pull his arms out of his shirt and discard it.  
"G-god, have you got bird bones?"  
He asked, joking to put himself at ease. Sherlock's weight on his lap seemed hardly anything at all. He didn't know whether that was because Watson was stronger than he had thought or because Sherlock was lighter than he had imagined.  
Sherlock ignored him, his attention now apparently completely fixated on the scar on Watson's shoulder. Watson soon felt his fingers tracing over the knot of scarring from the bullet-wound, pressing firmly to inspect the twisted healing of the once-shattered bone under it.  
"Sherlock..." he said, frowning slightly, feeling uncomfortable at the scrutiny.  
Sherlock carried on, his fingers running over it, his eyes intently studying it in fascination.  
"Sherlock, don't!" Watson said, more sharply than he had intended.  
Sherlock blinked and looked uncertainly at him. He then straightened up slightly, letting his fingers drop back down to Watson's chest.  
"Sorry." he murmured.  
"I know, I know, I didn't mean to snap." Watson said, flushing awkwardly.  
Sherlock tilted his head slightly, his eyes sweeping over him quizzically. once his mind seemed settled he leant in, bringing another kiss and invading with his tongue. Watson soon kissed back, wrapping his hands around Sherlock, running over his back and the hard plates of his shoulder-blades, down the gentle curve of his spine. He made a noise of approval, burying his head into the crook of Sherlock's neck. Soon his breath hitches as he felt Sherlock scrambling down at Watson's trousers, trying to free his erection. He gritted his teeth slightly, biting down a moan, his hips involuntarily thrusting up into Sherlock's weight on his lap.  
As Sherlock tugged his fly down, the detective remembered finally to look at their audience, though he looked distracted and a little dazed by lust by this point, Watson noticed. he impatiently clicked 'next' as he lifted himself up a little, enough to tug Watson's trousers down to his ankles. Watson soon returned the favour, his hands shaking as he pulled off Sherlock's trousers, and then was taken aback, gasping.  
"Y-you -? You don't wear underwear." he observed, trying to gulp down his alarm, self consciously averting his eyes. Sherlock looked amused by that.  
"No."  
"Why?"  
"I don't see their purpose." Sherlock said simply, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Watson's underwear. He grinned when he noticed Watson sneakily trying to take a look of him without being obvious.  
"I..ok." Watson said, looking flustered. He tried to ignore the little gasps and encouragement from the screen. "Well..at least you're enjoying this too.." Watson muttered.  
"Mmhm." Sherlock smirked and, hesitating only briefly, tugged Watson's underwear down too. When Watson looked like he was losing his nerve at being exposed to strangers he dragged him into a kiss, settling himself higher up to straddle Watson's lap. Watson shivered at the feeling of warm flesh touching hot skin.  
"Oh god..." he moaned, part out of pelasure, part out of nerves.  
"Don't -" Sherlock began.  
"-think. I know. i know." Watson said grumpily

Sherlock gave a slightly breathless laugh.  
"Yes...don't think, John."  
he kissed him and Watson gasped as Sherlock subtly ground his hips agaisnt Watson's. Watson gave an involuntary thrust upwards with a whine, getting desperate. Desperate for what specifically, he really didn't want to think about. But god he wanted -him-.  
There was a stunned and expectant silence from the ever-watchful webcam, which was just as well, because it was one of the last things that Watson was thinking about right now. He was too busy getting lost in Sherlock's - now definitely nervous even if still calm - eyes.  
Sherlock swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing uncertainly.  
"G-given your current accepted sexuality, perhaps it's better if you stick to what you're familiar with."  
Sherlock offered, his voice faltering slightly, his hands holding onto Watson's shoulders and kneading there.  
"Well..uhm...well whatever you normally do is..is fine with me." Watson said, finding that he couldn't muster much more than a whisper.  
"That could be problematic." Sherlock said.  
Watson looked puzzled. "Why?"  
"I don't 'normally' do anything." Sherlock admitted, his face going a little blank as he put a lid on showing his emotions, even if something in his voice was unmistakably vulnerable.  
Watson studied him, and the little female-voiced 'aww' of delighted expectation from the computer seemed to agree with his first impression of what Sherlock meant.  
"You mean...you mean that...?" Watson began awkwardly, searching his eyes.  
"I'm married to my work, John." Sherlock replied stiffly.  
"So that means, what exactly?" Watson pressed.  
"It was a very early marriage." Sherlock affirmed.  
John gave him a look. "So you're...you're a virgin?" he asked, the word feeling awkward and bizarre in his mouth. The woman on the computer made another sound of expectation and sympathy.  
Sherlock apparently ignored it and gave a stiff not.  
"But...but you're like 30-something." Watson said lamely.  
"34." Sherlock muttered, his face turning pink and hard in creeping embarrassment.  
"Wow." John breathed. Suddenly he felt a hell of a lot of pressure on him to get this right. "Are you sure that we should be doing this, like this then?" he asked.  
Sherlock frowned and then crushed his lips agaisnt Watson's. "Shut up."  
Watson's eyes widened and then closed, stroking Sherlock's face. Suddenly it really didn't matter. "o-ok...whatever you want." he gasped.

Sherlock nodded, nudging closer on his lap so that tehri chests pressed togetehr as he landed kisses down on Watson's throat. Watson swore that he could feel Sherlock's thundering heartbeat, though it could have been his own. He gasped as he felt Sherlock's hand stray between his legs to stroke at his member.  
"a-ah!" he gasped, thrusting his hips up into his hand with a whine.  
"o-one moment.." Sherlock murmured, reaching out to click 'next' as he stroked him, making watson shiver in need.  
"g-god!" Watson moaned, his hips thrusting up again but pinned down by Sherlock. Sherlock focused his attention back on him, both ignoring the little shriek the woman on the computer gave.  
"John..mhm..d-do you have anything?" Sherlock asked, chewing on his own bottom lip a little awkwardly.  
It took Watson a second to realise what he meant. he then blushed and gulped. "o-oh. Uh. Vaseline I guess." he said. "That's the..the best I can do." he muttered.  
Sherlock gave a quick nod and then reluctantly climbed of to find it. Watson groaned in embarrassment at the awkward break and squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head back on the chair. The person on the other end of the computer had gone oddly silent, which Watson supposed was to be expected. God knows what he looked like.  
He really, really tried not to think about that.  
Sherlock soon returned, his face pink and returned to straddling Watson's lap, mumbling something inaudibly as he soon slicked the Vaseline over Watson's member, making the doctor groan in his throat, his stomach twisting in nervous anticipation. This was new. Very new.  
Sherlock tossed it away once he was done, stroking over Watson's chest to waste time as he took a few calming breaths.  
"Alright?" Sherlock asked.  
"Y-yeah. 'Experiment' away, detective." Watson said, opening his eyes to look at him again.  
Sherlock chuckled at that, and Watson thought of how beautiful he looked when he smiled. the thought caught him quite by surprise, and it transfixed him as Sherlock raised himself up, linking his arms around Watson's neck for support, positioning himself above his member. He then locked lips with him and carefully and gently lowered himself, his breath hitching as Watson gradually entered him.  
"Easy..." Watson murmured, kissing him tenderly, stroking a hand comfortingly through his hair. "You're doing fine."  
"Don't patronise me." Sherlock said, shaking a little, but apparently nevertheless happy for the encouragement even if he stubbornly rejected it. A few moments later Sherlock had taken him fully in with a strained groan and tried to catch his breath. Watson smiled, his chest heaving as he adjusted to the new feeling and the impact of being so close to his flatmate.  
"Mhn...g-god.." he moaned.  
Sherlock inhaled, his confidence trickling back and shifted slightly. "Rhn.."  
"Good?" Watson asked tentatively, worried about hurting him.  
"Oh yes." Sherlock smiled, and Watson's heart just about melted. He decided to follow Sherlock's advice and not think about what that meant.  
Then, as if sensing that he needed a distraction, Sherlock started moving, lifting up and down, and soon Watson could think about nothing else but the fantastic feeling.

It wasn't long before they got into a rhythm, Watson's hands resting on Sherlock's hips as he moved up and down, tilting and angling himself to eke out all the pleasure he could, his deep voice groaning in a rumble or breaking in a higher whine every now and again, his teeth gritted or his mouth gaping in pleasure. Watson was memorised by him, his own breathless moans intermingling with Sherlock's, loving the mix of being the one penetrating, yet having Sherlock take complete control but for a few rather useless thrusts Watson attempted to make from his seat. He gasped, his mind fuzzy and clouded in pleasure, but still aware enough to marvel as Sherlock's cold exterior crumbled bit by bit as he flowed back to emotional instinct and impulse. Watson couldn't help but smile warmly at the faces he made and this way his kisses grew less and less coordinated, until the detective was gasping and nuzzling at him frantically and messily, Watson trying to catch them and hold him there, a hand straying up to his face tracing a thumb gently over his prominent cheekbones.  
"Oh- oh God John! a-ah!" Sherlock gasped, his experiment having gone out of the window, lost in this feeling of Watson's warmth in him and the sharp pleasure it gave.  
"Easy, mmhm...aah..." Watson moaned, his hips bucking up again, making Sherlock hiss. Soon he felt Sherlock's muscles tighten along with his grip around his neck, and soon the detective was riding him frantically, forcing the breath out of Watson until all he could do was let out intermittent gasps for air. Sherlock's moans grew louder and louder, and Watson awkwardly reached out to stroke at the detective's member to help him along, grinning at his friend losing control, feeling his own peak fast approaching. Sure enough within a minute Sherlock bucked and dug his nails into Watson's back, crying out in ecstasy as he finally came, his tight spasming muscles sending Watson over the edge moments later. After they had both ridden it out, Sherlock shakily pulled off him and collapsed back in his seat, panting and looking at Watson. Watson smiled weakly back, his own chest rising and falling as he took deep breaths to steady himself.  
"Q-quite the experiment." he said when he finally found his voice.  
Sherlock nodded wordlessly, looking a little dizzy, but the beaming smile he gave was more than a whole novel of speech to Watson. Watson smiled back and exhaled, feeling exhausted.

"Oh. My. GOD."  
A female voice exclaimed in a mix of somewhat happy amazement and utter shock. It was only then that Watson zoned back in that they had had an audience for the whole thing.  
He then paused.  
He recognised that voice. He was sure he did.  
His heart froze in panic. Sherlock watched him with lethargic interest.  
Watson stared at the screen. Harry Watson stared back.  
"I KNEW it!" Harry exclaimed, her mouth gaping.  
"HARRY?" Watson yelped in horror.  
Sherlock gave a little smirk. "Now this is interesting." he said, glad to finally see the owner of the phone, apparently unfazed by the social situation.  
Harry turned to look at him, and Watson looked like he wanted to faint.  
"I'm Sherlock Holmes. Good to finally put a face to you."


End file.
